Tekken 2
by Covington
Summary: Heihachi Mishima is Dead.  With Kazuya Mishima gaining control of world powers he finds himself the enemy of many but,will he achieve ultimate domination with the help of the Devil within? This is Tekken II
1. The Prologue: Day 1

The sky was a pale kind of grey, unspectacular, drab an uninteresting blend of clouds, sky and pollutants. It hung there very still, like a dusty curtain looming over the city threateningly. As if to warn everyone below, ignorant of its solemn attitude, that it could fall and blanket all of them with a damp quietness. It was made out of the same substance that killed men of boredom, not generous, not terrible just existing listlessly until one day it wouldn't exist and day silently full of regrets. Passed that exterior rain waited, it wouldn't be long before the uneventful sky would open with event and rain down onto the pavement below. The streets would shine like patent leather and glow in the moonlight, like a giant artificial mirror, slight distortion, the cracks in the ground like grooves to hide in, to cower, to sink and stand in absolute silence.

Even the rain would be mellow, no thunder or lightning, just the steady rush of water from the sky, filling the air with a cool calm and sounding like the applause of a million microscopic romantics, swaying back and forward at the marvel of nature. No one on the ground would feel it though; they'd escape into buildings, under umbrellas, or in their minds away from the world, away from everything. Stress would create a shell around them, their bodies, their minds, artificiality was always the first borne of detachment.

There were a billion people out there, somewhere, everywhere probably, thinking, scheming, walking, dreaming, crying, laughing, screaming in delight, screaming in horror, philosophizing, rationalizing, remembering, forgetting, controlling, submitting, winning, losing, fearing, imposing. So many options, so many lives all connected by the world they lived on and separated by the world they lived in. They quelled the beast inside of them, they relied on automation, cars, plans, trains they all took people somewhere, point A and Point B damned the points in the middle, sure they were someone else's point of origins and destinations but, for someone they were in the way! Even people who walked, walked automatically, their minds programmed to take them somewhere, they walked on invisible tracks never daring to take a step away from the usual. Loss aversion is what they called it , status quo bias is what they called it, laziness is what they called it, conformity, surrender…

The wind sighed, it was a odd sort of thing though. Not the kind of wind that blows before a rain storm, fragrant with the smell of rain and cool, wrapping around one's arms and laying upon the senses like a lover who had been missed for a long time. This was a deathly sort of sigh, resigned and angry, short and abrupt it snatched away the world for a moment and slapped it back into reality. Everything was anxious but, nothing was going to happen.

The ground shook and it felt for a moment as if it would escalate into a earthquake and the earth would open up and scoop everything within its ugly cavernous mouth, with teeth made of stone and a tongue of magma that licked upon the skin burning thoroughly but, with a sick precision. It didn't happen though, the rumbling stayed at its intensity before fading into nothing, underground the metal slug carried mindless robots from point A to point B, quietly reminding them there were things to buy when they departed the innards, things to consume, things to desire that they didn't already desire.

The slightest drop of rain fell upon his nose, it wasn't the first in a storm but, more like a premature mistake. It woke him from his reverie and he looked around at the other people, none of them had been touched. This was a secret between him and the sky, it whispered: 'It's going to rain' to him and only home. Though it was apparent by the sullen heartache in the sky, it was always nice to be told the secret, a special kind of thing, the kind of things children were vocal about loving.

His eyes looked up, in front of him a skyscraper, it reached to the sky and poked the sullenness, it prodded asking 'why?'. He looked up, his eyes hurt, his mind hurt. This was the Mishima Financial Empire and this was the castle. Outside people were calmly walking by, if automation could be called calm, a contrast to what it was like inside a buzzing hive of fear and anxiety. The kind of anxiety the people of Jericho surely felt when the walls fell. The building stood but, everything inside was on the verge of collapse, a hundred working people working at nothing, unsure of what the product of their work would be. The sort of craziness that came from driving on a bridge, then seeing a sign warning the bridge was incomplete and driving onward but never seeing the fall coming. It was there but, how much longer? Would it be swift? Or would they go on until lulled into calm and then snatched from under them?

He sighed; he had to put on a farce before going in, for some reason everyone in there was going to look at him for reassurance. He didn't know why, he had no answers, if destruction was coming he would make a horrible shield from it. Yet still they looked to him but, he looked somewhere else, into a fog where he couldn't see the other side.

Kazi Sumon stood up, sighed and walked back into the building, he felt his back clench as he braced for impact.

This was the first day.


	2. The Prologue: Day 2

The second day was worse.

Kazi sat in the office all day, a million and one papers on the desk, all needing to be read as quickly as possible. The windows showed him the world outside, it all looked so far away, people on the street like ants, no one was coming for him, ever. People did come into the office though, _other_ people, the came and spoke, some in a soft questioning tone, others more violently; shaking their fist and demanding answers.

Kazi had no idea what to say to any of them, there was a feeling of having to reassure them, even if it meant lying but, no one was that stupid here, everyone knew everything was dire. The phone would ring and ring and ring and, Kazi would stare at it as it did. At first it seemed like a good idea to answer but, the first hundred times he did it was someone who wanted answers or reassurance.

He had none.

He needed both but, everyone was looking at him. His hands spent the day at his head, trembling or turning pages over. His eyes read black on white, English words, Japanese words, a hundred million words; clauses, stipulations, agreements, infractions, exceptions, guidelines, connections, everything and he read them silently on the highest floor of the tallest building in the city that prodded at the sky but, never received an answer.

Every so often someone would come into the office with a stack of papers and an apologetic face before leaving them on the desk and when that was full, on the chair and when that was full on the floor; until Kazi was walled off in a fort of information.

Kazi would look at the clock and it would read Two-Twenty Five in the afternoon and he'd look back down at the papers all hundred million of them and read them, every line, twice and still there was nothing, no answers, just more questions. He'd read and read and read and when it felt like an hour or two had gone by he'd look back at the clock and it would read Three-Forty Five in the morning. Kazi would look out the window and see the dark sky, the quietness of Japan cooing softly, his hands would shake; maybe out of nervousness, maybe out of fatigue. Unsteadily he'd rub one on his forehead and dig into his pocket with the other, his fingers would wrap around them small tubular bottle and unscrew the top desperately.

Two shakes and the small white pill would land in his hand and he'd stare at it, as if it was going to speak. The prescription had long worn off he forgot how many of these he was supposed to take. Was it based on severity? Probably not, his fatigue was always severe. He left it up to chance, when he shook the bottle he took whatever came out. Sometimes it was a lone warrior, or a happy couple and even sometimes a family out for a weekend excursion and then like a pedestrian magician he made them vanish with a gulp and continued to read.

The days began to bleed into each other nights and early mornings were identical twins, the sun was a strange abhorrent being that symbolized, what? Another day of failure? Another day he hadn't been 'home'.

When he was in Italy there were days like this, days where he wasn't sure what was going to happen the next day or if he'd see it, or if he'd _want_ to see it. The sun played an ominous role, always rising and warning him of what was to come, would he see the next rise? The next fall?

Here he was again, staring out the window at the sun as it came over the horizon, creeping up from behind the buildings. How many times had the phone rung in the middle of the night/day blend? Kazi knew he'd have to return them, all of them sometime today, talking on the phone and reading, all information getting confused and bundled up into each other.

At Five-Fifty Seven someone walked into the office just as Kazi's eyes were begin to fold. He was the new assistant, a young guy, younger than Kazi, handsome, smart, obedient an odd choice for the rigid job. In his hand was a green folder stuffed with papers, his eyes pitied Kazi as he came forward but, he put the folder in the center of the desk.

"These just came in" he spoke; Kazi wearily opened the folder and skimmed the words, nothing processed, just a blur of ink.

"What are they, Matashi?" Kazi asked; his voice retained its strength though he barely heard himself.

"It's a complete break down of the tournament," Matashi explained. "It has everyone who won, loss or forfeited all the way to the third before last round." Matashi explained.

"What happened to the other two rounds?" Kazi asked; his interest beginning to shape.

"Not sure," Matashi began. "Seems as if there was some kind of malfunction." Matashi surmised.

"Of course." Kazi murmured.

"It seems the last recorded winner we have is a man named, Paul Pheonix." Matashi explained.

"Have we managed to contact him?" Kazi asked; Matashi shook his head slowly and frowned.

"No, they think you ought to-" Matashi began.

"I'll get on it," Kazi sighed. "Have to be careful though. If he suspects something is up he might try to lie and claim the prize." Kazi yawned and his eyes fell onto the window again.

How did this happen?

"You should get some rest." Matashi warned but, Kazi forced a weak smile to his face.

"Not until this is cleared up," He admitted. "Not until we know the truth."


	3. The Prologue: Day 3

Nervousness sunk into panic as the third day groaned to life. Kazi hadn't moved from his spot in the office but, he had moved a little more fluidly. Sleep found him for four hours and his body felt more at ease than he had been in the last three days. To his surprise it still hadn't rained; it did drizzle in strange cycles in the last two days but, nothing he thought could justify the look of the sky. It all seemed like a precursor to a worse storm to come, not just the sky but, everything that was happening. For every false turn he took, every dead end and every wrong answer he gave it felt as if it was added to a cloud that was on the verge of exploding and it would all rain down upon him; right there in that very office. All the folders, books, papers, letters, files, dossiers and records a wash with some torrential down pour of stress and ominous ambiguity. The flooded pent house surrounded by great windows that overlooked the city filling to the top like a great extravagant aquarium and poor Kazi floating, belly up, at the very top.

For some reason he looked at the door anticipating someone to walk through, not a specific someone (though that would have instantly stopped all of the worry) but, anyone. A stranger on the street, someone he knew, someone he wanted to know, didn't want to know, maybe _him_, maybe a cloned image of himself would walk through and take over for him. It was none of those but, someone he hadn't expected at all, all at once he took the man in; the baldness, the glasses, the disapproving frown upon his face and the hunched walk that crept quickly over to him.

"Abel…" Kazi said with astonishment; he had forgotten about Abel, the last time he saw him was the last time he had seen Heihachi. The revelation that Abel was still around gave him hope, even though there was no correlation something about seeing Abel lifted weight off of Kazi's shoulders.

"Sumon," Abel tersely responded moving over to the chair and indiscriminately moving files somewhere else so he could sit. He looked Kazi in the eyes and spoke deliberately. "What is going on?"

Kazi sighed, that was a good question, he hadn't actually talked about it. He addressed it without directly confronting what the situation actually was. He was so quickly thrown into it he hadn't the chance to actually think about what was happening to himself or talk about it with anyone else.

"It's Heihachi," Kazi began but, this seemed to upset Abel as he restlessly shifted his chair and sighed aggravated.

"He's missing," Abel blurted out the words. They hit Kazi like bricks, he thought of all the words and what they meant individually, then what they meant in conjunction with each other. It was all very strange. "I know that, I mean what have you found out since?" Abel asked; the words brought him out of his confused disbelief and he frowned at Abel.

"Nothing much," he thought for a moment; he had been on a sort of autopilot for the last few days. What was important to mention? "We haven't found out much, it's what we don't know that's telling," He stroked his chin, it was sprouting a beard. "We know that the third place contestant in the tournament is a name from America named Paul Phoenix and we know he lost. Now from there we should know who was in the second place spot but, there's no information on who that person is. Presumably this mystery person was the last to see Heihachi but, until we know who it is," His voiced trailed off at the rediscovery of the dead end.

"Can't you call this Paul?" Abel asked; Kazi nodded.

"We have, _I_ have personally but, there hasn't been a response yet." Kazi explained; Abel shook his head, there was a deal of worry in him, Kazi noted. It wasn't like this man to worry too much but, this wasn't a normal situation.

"What about the JACK?" Abel moved on reluctantly.

"We retrieved it," Kazi assured.

"And the other?" Abel asked but, Kazi shook his head.

"The video feed went out before the end of the round, it was clear our Prototype JACK was the victor but, when the machine was retrieved the other was gone." Abel barely reacted.

"That's unfortunate," Abel muttered.

"Something was left behind though," Kazi went into a drawer and dove into some papers before picking up a palm sized electronic structure. "It looked important." He said as he handed it to Abel. Abel's face showed signs of life when his eyes rested on the device.

"This is the Dyson chip," he said with a hint of excitement. "It holds all the processes that the A.I. comes up with and stores them." Abel explained.

"Would it have any information on who created it, or where?" Kazi asked; Abel thought for a moment.

"It could," Abel thought aloud. "I'll need time with it." He admitted.

"It's yours, the sooner we can get answers, the sooner we may be able to make sense of what's happening." Kazi agreed. Abel nodded and didn't move for a long moment that preceding him getting up, it was awkward it felt as if he was going to say something but, he just started to the door but, before reaching it stopped.

"You don't think," He paused as he had changed his mind on what to say.

"What was that?" Kazi asked, Abel shook his head and smirked.

"Behind that desk," He started. "You look apt." And he stepped out. Kazi sat there looking at the door for a while longer.

It had only been three days.


End file.
